


Flag Unfurled

by makeit_takeit



Series: Missing Scenes [4]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 12:54:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12321489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeit_takeit/pseuds/makeit_takeit
Summary: "The Replacements". After the retreat from Nuenen.One thing he has to hold on to, to count on, is his single-mindedness. When something needs doing, by God, it’ll get done; shells and mortar and bombs exploding on a once-jubilant village be damned, he’s got a hole to dig, and there’s no time for wondering if those villagers are the worse for having had a taste of hope, however fleeting.





	Flag Unfurled

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ on 4/13/2009.

_They’re bombing Eindhoven._

_Yeah._

_C’mon Nix. We’ll dig in for the night._

_Won’t be waving so many orange flags at us tomorrow._

They dig in silence, the thundering artillery in the distance reduced to a muted hum in Dick’s mind as he concentrates on the task at hand. One thing he has to hold on to, to count on, is his single-mindedness. When something needs doing, by God, it’ll get done; shells and mortar and bombs exploding on a once-jubilant village be damned, he’s got a hole to dig, and there’s no time for wondering if those villagers are the worse for having had a taste of hope, however fleeting.

_Think that’ll do it._

_Should._

It’s not wide, but it’s deep; it’ll keep their heads below the horizon, and their eyes meet in unspoken understanding that they’re both too tired to care about anything more. There’s a point of diminishing returns, where energy spent digging will not be won back with sleep.

They lay their shovels aside and slide down into the moist earth, dirt crumbling and falling down with them. Shoulder to shoulder, knees bent up and boots against the opposite wall of the hole, both pull out their canteens. Dick smells the cap come off Nixon’s, the waft of the alcohol hitting his nose as he swallows lukewarm water, creating an incongruous sensation on his tongue that almost makes him gag. Nix pulls a long swallow of whiskey, then flips a smoke up between his lips.

_Water?_

Dick holds out his canteen, but Nix just shrugs him off, holding his own canteen out in Dick’s direction as he lights up. The flame catches his grin, his eyebrow raised, teasing.

Dick doesn’t bother making a reply, other than a quirk of the mouth, that slight hint of a smile. Nix inhales deeply, snaps the flame off – but not in time to hide the deep red stain of blood dripping down his palm, across his wrist. His right hand holds the cigarette to his mouth, and Dick’s fingers reach for his left. Nix doesn’t resist, doesn’t even react, just sucks on his cig with his eyes on Dick, blinking slowly.

Dick carefully uncurls Lew’s fingers, exposing the bloody blister gashed open on the palm. He tips his canteen carefully, filling Lew’s cupped hand with water, and thumbs away the bloody tracks, erasing them from calloused skin. _A stupid gesture_ , Dick’s thinking as he does it,  _and pointless_. They’re both filthy; stained and sullied from head to toe. But they’re neither of them bleeding – not today, not anymore, and that’s all that matters right now.

Dick screws the cap onto his canteen, Nix’s gaze still fixed on him, and his head leans back against the hard packed dirt, eyes close as he inhales the scent of the smoke. He feels Nix’s hand clap down on his thigh, halfway between his hip and knee, and tap once, twice. A silent thank you, and then it rests there. The heat spreads under Lew’s hand, and Dick feels himself relax into the contours of the earth beneath him, the body beside him; a flag unfurled from its careful, triangular folds. He exhales.

_Scared you today, did I?_

_Taking one to the head is one way to do it, if that’s your objective._

_Should’ve seen your face._

_Should’ve seen_ yours _._

_Never did pick up my helmet. Would’ve made a helluva souvenier._

_Guess your intact skull will have to serve._

_Heh. Guess so._

_Shouldnt’ve been back at the back anyway. Should’ve already been loaded up._

_It’s called intelligence, Dick. Ya know, how bad is it, what’d we lose? They kinda want me to know these things._

_Could’ve briefed you in the truck._

_If your ass would’ve_ been _in the truck. Which it wasn’t._

_It’s my job. First one in, last one out._

_And who’s lookin’ out for you?_

_It’s not your responsibility, Nix._

_The hell it isn’t._

The tone of Lew’s voice is pointed; conversation over. His hand on Dick’s leg presses, squeezes purposefully, and that’s the end of that. Dick keeps his eyes closed, hears Nix tap out another smoke. Hears the rasp of the flint, sees the burst from the flame paint the back of his eyelids, then fade. Hears the deep inhale, the long exhale, feels the rise and fall of Nix’s breathing, like a lullaby.

Dick slides down, just slightly. Enough to put his ear against Lew’s shoulder, to lean into the warmth beside him. It's the other thing he can count on, and so he sleeps.


End file.
